


Spicy Joy

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: Solas cooks a surprise.





	Spicy Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Teeth-rotting fluff for all of you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

She misses the spicy spices of the Free Marches.

Her mother, the Hearthkeeper, would often use them in her dishes, since almost everyone in the clan liked their taste and the strong spiciness in the mouth that only those ingredients could create.

Leaves and flowers, little buds and plants, sometimes even squishy beetles – her mom knew everything about those and Scarlet can still taste their flavor under her tongue, feel the heat they created on the roof of her mouth and on her cheeks, all the way down her chest and belly.

The cooks of Skyhold are incredibly skilled at their job and she always gives them her compliments after every meal, but they have to cook and prepare food for an entire fortress and the dishes the servants put on the tables every day are made to satisfy everyone, from her companions to the nobles, from the pilgrims in visit to the ambassadors and soldiers.

There is a great variety of food to choose from and some of it _it’s_ spicy, but not as much as Scarlet would like and it’s a completely different flavor from the one she tasted in her clan. She can feel the herbs and spices used are different, milder, less strong, probably Fereldan, and her heart aches a little bit.

Still, she thinks it would be stupid and disrespectful to request something specifically for herself. The cooks have already too much stuff to think about and ordering special spices from the Free Marches just to satisfy one of her whims – a very childish one – is silly and unworthy of the Inquisitor. She can’t let people think she is a selfish, spoiled ruler like those Emperors of Orlais she read so much about.

And she can’t ask her mother or Keeper Deshanna to send her what she desires, because she would look like a silly child, a homesick _da’len_ who can’t take care of her needs and would let her clan deprive itself of food to satisfy her, _her_ , someone who lives in a large fortress and has armies and agents at her disposal all over Thedas.

She confides this to Solas only once, on a day when she is most affected by homesickness and nostalgia. They are eating in their quarters, on one of the balconies, because the weather is nice and mild and the wind warm enough to be comfortable.

She sits on Solas’ lap, after he insisted a lot, reassuring her that he could eat perfectly well – “I would eat even _better_ if you were on my legs, _vhenan_.” –, and the dish on the small table they brought outside reminds her of one her mother would often make.

“It’s not spicy like hers, though.” she chuckles softly, before putting one piece of meat into her mouth. “I miss her spices; they burned your mouth like nothing else and you felt like you could walk through a mountain of snow completely naked without ever feeling cold!”

“That would be pretty useful.” Solas smiles, kissing her shoulder, and she giggles, nodding.

“I needed something like that when I got lost at Haven.”

He makes a sad sound at that, remembering all too well the moments of panic and fear when they lost track of her after Corypheus’ attack. He nuzzles her neck, but then he notices the way she’s playing with her food, her eyes cast down, her melancholic smile.

“ _Vhenan_?” he calls her, brushing back a lock of red hair from her face. “What is wrong?”

She hums, a bit embarrassed, but then she takes a deep breath and replies softly: “I miss my clan. My parents’ voices and my friends’ jokes. And I know it’s silly, but I miss the food, too.”

Solas’ heart swells with love and understanding and he moves her head down to his shoulder, murmuring: “Oh, no, my love. No, it isn’t silly.”

He kisses her nose, then her lips, and he tastes the spices of the food they are eating and wonders what her mother used to prepare. He asks her so, as tactfully as he can, and tries to find out the exact names of the ingredients her clan harvested.

A plan is already forming in his mind and he gains even more courage to accomplish it, because Scarlet’s eyes shine brightly as she describes the dishes her mother prepared and their flavor, the herbs she helped her gather, the leaves she and the other hunters would search in the woods to improve the clan’s meals.

He asks her questions, especially about the recipe, but she understands immediately what he wants to do, or so she believes, because she starts to panic and watches him with big, worried eyes.

“Solas, you aren’t going to request this food to the cooks, are you?” She tugs at his sweater, exclaiming: “Don’t do it, it’s a silly thing! I don’t want them to order expensive ingredients from the Free Marches and Rivain, it would be wasted money!”

“It wouldn’t!” he replies, touched by her selflessness, admiring it, because someone else would have ordered all the food, clothes, and gems they could thanks to their power and influence. Scarlet didn’t even ask for a bigger bed and kept the still precious, but simple one they put in her quarters the first day, when Skyhold was still unfurnished and rooms waited to be filled.

That wasn’t his plan, anyway. Simply request the dishes she so misses to the cooks would have been a small, stupid gift, something not even worthy to be called that. Instead, he plans to personally prepare the spicy food she craves, by heading into the kitchens when no one is there and surprising her with the flavors and scents of her clan.

The problem is, he is scared of failing. He can cook many things, but it’s not hard to cook a rabbit on the fire with just a few herbs here and there or come up with a soup of vegetables and stewed meat. He has never been one for complex, overly rich dishes and even in Arlathan he rarely ate the same food as the others, preferring the flavor-changing berries of the wild woods to the incomprehensible recipes the Evanuris requested from their slaves.

The dish Scarlet misses more than anything else sounded pretty simple, though; she even explained the recipe before thinking he was going to ask the cooks to prepare it and it only requires attention, care, and a few special ingredients. He believes he can do a good job and he has always been a fast learner.

After reassuring her he has no intention of asking the cooks, they finish their meal, then they go back to their duties: letters and documents for Scarlet, books and various studies for Solas. They sit at her desk – “ _Our_ desk.” she insists whenever he calls it that – and they help each other with passages and words, sharing opinions and ideas with each other and enjoying each other’s company and love.

She sees concepts in the words of his books that he can never find by himself: new answers and questions, curiosities and new information, hidden details and clues that prompt the mind to think of more and more things. He feels lucky and blessed to study and research in her presence and he listens to her, to her ideas and reasonings, with starry eyes while she talks and read passages sitting on his lap.

Sometimes, when she’s sitting on her own chair, he rests his head on the desk, on his folded arms, and watches her and listens to her rapturously, drinking every word, every intake of breath, every smile and focused frown, and cherishes them all in his heart and mind.

And when she complains about the nobles she has to write to, about the letters they sent her and the boring documents, he helps her with all the knowledge at his disposal and they often overcome difficulties together; an old Fereldan dialect that he never heard in the Fade and that she never read before, a curious Orlesian expression they have no idea how to translate in the Common Tongue, mysterious dwarven customs mentioned in a paper without any explanation.

It’s a journey and he thinks it’s better than any journey he ever had in the Fade. And his heart bursts with joy when he sees the same happiness and wonder in Scarlet’s eyes as they study and read together.

Night soon comes and they ask a servant to bring dinner there, in their quarters; there is still work to do, but most of all they want to relax and spend the evening together, without anyone else, watching the flames dance in the fireplace and cuddling in bed.

While they eat and kiss and joke and laugh, Solas’ plan takes better form in his mind; he memorized all the ingredients and instructions Scarlet mentioned before, but he made sure to write them down while she was busy with some books. He knows exactly what to do, now.

He extinguishes the flames of the candles with a gesture, leaving only the roaring fireplace, then he snuggles with Scarlet under the sheets and heavy blankets and kisses her eyes. One kiss to wish her a good night and one to wish her a good morning. She giggles and kisses his chin and his smile and blush fill his whole face.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks, like she does every night.

“Always.” he replies, like he does every night, and they fall asleep like that, safe and warm in each other’s arms.

 

\- - - -

 

The next day, after having breakfast in the main hall with their friends, Solas heads to the stables.

One of his agents works there, as one of Master Dennet’s assistants: he takes care of the mounts and makes sure Leliana’s agents have the best ones for their missions and quests across Thedas.

Blackwall is still inside the main building and Master Dennet is talking with one of the merchants of the courtyard, so the stables are empty and he and the agent can talk without problems.

The agent immediately stands up when he sees him coming and waits for instructions; Solas quietly hands him the list of ingredients, the ones the kitchens of Skyhold don’t have and Scarlet doesn’t want to order, fearing to bother everyone and spend too much.

“These are… spices from the Free Marches and Rivain.” the agent says, quite puzzled. His statement sounds almost like a question. “Do you want me to find these, sir?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. It is quite important.” He sees the small smile on the agent’s lips and he frowns, asking a bit dryly: “What is it?”

“This is for Inquisitor Lavellan, right?” the young man asks and now a smile blooms on Solas’ face, too, and he blushes.

“Yes.” He looks at the main building of the fortress, where he knows she is currently busy attending to the new refugees and soldiers arrived in Skyhold, strong people that offered their help and services. He can already imagine her taking care of everything with her kindness and professionalism and his heart beats faster.

When he looks back at the agent, he’s snickering, badly hiding it behind a hand. Solas’ blush deepens and he clears his throat, saying curtly: “Please, try to find them as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir. I will send you word once I have everything.”

Solas nods, grateful, then he hurries to the stronghold, eager to see Scarlet’s smile.

 

\- - - -

 

One week later, the agent gives him the ingredients and Solas can get to work.

He planned everything to the last detail: he will start preparing the food in the late afternoon, when the kitchens are empty and the cooks still haven’t raised from their nap. It’s the perfect time of day, because lunch is over and dinner is still too far away.

Of course, if some noble requests a particular dish or special concoction, a servant will go to the cooks and then he will get caught, but he will make sure they won’t say anything to Scarlet, should that happen.

He’s going to freeze the door, anyway. That should give him more time to cook in peace.

He chooses a particularly busy day: Scarlet won’t be able to spend the afternoon with him because she promised Cassandra she would train with her. Cole will also participate, because he wants to learn how to make “the knives talk”, something she mentioned a few months ago that struck him ever since.

He sees the cooks leave the kitchen for the blissful long hours that separate them from dinner; the main cook, an elderly, chubby human woman with deceptively stern eyes, laughs with a young assistant, pets her beloved cat, and doesn’t lock the door, just like Solas expected. Almost all doors are left open in Skyhold and the main one of the kitchens is no exception.

Thankfully, the ingredients are just special, thin spices, nothing too large that would immediately catch everyone’s attention; he is able to slip into the kitchens without being seen and heard, the precious bag pressed against his chest. Inside, he put the second note he wrote down the day Scarlet told him about her great homesickness: the recipe, explained to the last detail just like she explained it to him.

Grateful for his good memory, he smiles at the list, already imagining her joy, and freezes the handle of the door so that nobody will be able to enter for the time being. It’s time to begin and he immediately focuses on the task at hand, like he always does when he has to perform something important, especially if it’s related to Scarlet and her happiness. One day, he spent almost two days without sleeping because he absolutely wanted to finish his painting for her before Satinalia.

He looks down at the recipe, licking his lips in deep concentration. The first steps are the easiest: he just has to collect all the ingredients and tools he needs, then proceed with spicing the meat. The following steps are harder, especially for someone like him who never had much experience with cooking, but he reminds himself that this is for Scarlet and that he’s a fast and good learner, so he _won’t fail_.

But there is already a problem, before he can even truly begin: he has no idea where to find stuff in this kitchen. It’s not a large room by any means – and that always surprised him, because he has no idea how the cooks can prepare so much food for so many people here -, but there are cabinets and boxes everywhere and he doesn’t wish to break or disrupt anything.

But he needs to explore this place if he wishes to continue and finish before the servants get back, so he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater – he put on his old, tattered one to avoid ruining the ones Scarlet sewed for him – and carefully opens every shutter, lifts all the lids, peeks into every box and cabinet until he finds all he needs.

Satisfied, he goes back to the table at the center of the room, only to notice that the cooks have extinguished all the flames in the stoves and ovens. A sensible idea, but he needs fire and the right temperature to cook the meat and let the spicy stew simmer, so he summons his magic and creates a strong flame inside one of the iron stoves, hoping that’s the right way to do it. He saw there was still wood inside, so it should be all good.

With a content sigh, he finally concentrates on the meat, reading the recipe. He frowns, because he has no idea how to cut it in “thick, but precise slices”. He knows what that means, but he has never been good with a knife and he is beyond clumsy when it comes to cutting food. When he cooks for Scarlet and their friends at camp, he either cuts the meat in large, uneven chunks or tosses it like it is into the pot.

He finds the act of tearing away a piece of rabbit or fennec and then biting into it with gusto much more appealing than simply looking for the pieces with a fork, but the first time he cooked like that and said that Varric groaned and rubbed his eyes, muttering something about missing a “hanged man”, and Dorian looked so unimpressed and disgusted he almost felt mortified.

But then Scarlet laughed and kissed his cheek, saying she liked eating meat in the same way, because Dalish elves rarely cared about cutlery and they liked the way a well-deserved and blessed juicy hare could feel under their teeth. He smiled at her, grateful and reassured, and loved her even more.

He goes back to the present, a smile lingering on his lips, and he does his best to cut the meat as the recipe says. His hand trembles a little as he inexpertly handles the knife and makes a bloody mess all over the table, but in the end, the meat looks good and is ready to be spiced.

He needs to prepare the sauce, then. Honey and a little bit of water – he doesn’t know the quantities, though, so he will have to follow his instincts.

He found the honey in the strangest of places – hidden inside a pot on top of a cabinet, probably put there by the cooks to stop people from plunging their fingers into it. He opens the jar and scoops one spoon of the golden substance into a little bowl. He adds water, but he adds _too much_ of it and the sauce is too liquid, leaving him breathless with panic for a moment.

Then he remembers that the solution is easy; he just needs to add more honey, stir well, and the sauce should become dense, thick, ready to be spread over the meat.

Suddenly, he hears a sound and realizes with horror that he didn’t lock the second door, the one that leads to the courtyard. He sees a head peeking into the room and he stays still, fingers sticky with honeyed water and the front of his sweater already bloody because of the meat.

He scowls at Sera’s bewildered face and she quickly returns the expression.

But then she gasps, noticing the jar of honey on the table. A question passes in her eyes – probably a “ _Where did he find it?_ ” – and Solas knows the cooks have been hiding it from her.

But then her curiosity gets too strong and her next question is for him: “What are you doing here, elfy elf?”

Solas swallows a mortified lump of bile and replies coldly, looking back at the syrup in the bowl: “I’m preparing something for Scarlet.”

“Like, a dish that makes you wanna have sex? I know they have those in Antiva.” Sera cackles, gloating as she sees Solas’ red cheeks and tightened jaw.

“ _No_.” he says, his tone as cold as ice, now. “It’s a gift and I’d like to be left alone.”

“I can do that.” Sera nods, pursing her lips. She seems to be in deep thought as Solas finishes to stir the syrup and that’s not a good sign. “ _If_ you give me something in return.”

His head snaps in her direction, faster than lightning, and he glares at her.

“I’m not letting you taste it!”

“ _Ew_ , as if! I don’t wanna get poisoned, I know you can’t cook for shit!”

Those words scare him a little – did someone complain, then? Is he that bad at cooking? Will this gift be good? -, but then he remembers who just pronounced them and he sighs, annoyed, and pretends he didn’t hear her.

“I won’t tell anyone you’ve been here if you give me that.” she insists, pointing at the jar of honey. She grins, drumming her fingers on the door; she is still peeking into the room, not even stepping into it for one second, and Solas follows her impish gaze.

He shouldn’t need honey anymore; the recipe mentions it only for the sauce, so there should be no problems in giving it to her and ensuring his surprise won’t be spoiled. The last thing he wants is the entire stronghold knowing what he’s doing, thus ruining Scarlet’s gift.

“Do you promise?” he asks, taking the jar, but glaring at Sera without giving it to her. She glares back at him, but she sounds sincere when she answers: “Yes, yes, I promise! I didn’t see anything and you didn’t see me either. Deal?”

He harrumphs and tosses her the jar, which she catches with incredible speed, before cackling and disappearing beyond the now closed door. He hurries to freeze it with a simple spell, then sighs, breathes deeply three times, and goes back to the recipe.

He spreads the sauce and the precious spices over the slices of meat, then takes a pan and fits it above the now roaring stove. He has no idea what the right temperature and times are, though, and he doesn’t dare look away to prepare the stew while the meat frizzles on the fire. He bites his lips, hoping it’s still early for the cooks to go back into the kitchens, and decides to watch over the meat before doing anything else.

But then he realizes that it would become inedible, chewy and hard to bite into, if he let too much time pass. Time is essential not just to cook, but also to eat, and he can’t possibly leave the cooked meat on a plate while the stew simmers in a pot.

Magic. Magic can help him, even in this case. He will just have to enchant the meat, so that it won’t get hard and cold, and everything will be alright. He chuckles nervously under his breath, forcing his panic down, because it clearly makes him forget about the most basic stuff. His desire to make Scarlet happy is so great that the thought of making a mess sounds like a sin, a terrible offense against her.

Breathing deeply, he puts the slices of meat on the pan, yelping when they frizzle loudly and a bit of oil burns his fingertips. His sweater is more soiled than ever, but he doesn’t even see it and keeps going, controlling the meat with extreme precision, careful not to let the spices fall onto the pan.

He read somewhere that meat must not be pierced with forks or knives while cooking, so he moves it around with a spoon, biting his lips and studying the color to see when it’s ready. After a short while, he believes it’s done – Scarlet likes it almost raw, just like he does, so it’s easier for him to know when to stop. He’s glad he kept an eye on the meat, since the flame was definitely too high and strong and the stove is burning madly.

He delicately places the meat onto the best plate he could find, one that reminds him of Dalish art and motifs, with beautiful flowers and leaves and strong colors, then he casts a preserving spell on it. It’s time to make the stew and he hurries to take the rest of the spices, oil, butter (the kitchens don’t have halla butter like the recipe requires, so he hopes the one he found will be alright), then carrots and sweet onions and celery.

He’s good at making stew, he thinks, so he feels more comfortable and less anxious when it’s time to add the hare and potatoes. He cooks and takes care of everything until he’s sweatier than he has ever been and his sweater is a disaster, until his hands and brow are dirty and the floor and table are a mess, while the plate of spiced meat lies safe under a protective barrier.

And then, just as he’s about to taste the stew and a little bit of the meat to make sure everything is alright, he hears the bell in the courtyard that rings with the one in the garden of Skyhold: they indicate when the prayers in the chapel are about to begin, but they are also a signal for dinner. More than two hours and a half must have passed, then.

Solas starts to panic. Soon the cooks and servants will come back and they will try to open the door, and once they realize they can’t, they will call someone to push it open, believing it stuck, and they will find him here, sweaty, stinking, surrounded by a mess. And then his surprise will be ruined and he won’t be able to create the right mood in his and Scarlet’s quarters.

He swallows something that feels like tears, then he hastily pours the stew into a large bowl, casts a protective and preserving spell on it, too, and places the bowl and the dish with the meat on a wooden tray. He adds another plate for himself, cutlery, and two glasses; finally, he covers everything with a cloth, so that nobody will see the food and understand what he did.

The surprise is ready, but he looks terrible and if Scarlet has already left the courtyard after hearing the bell, then he’s done for.

“I must hurry.” he murmurs, forcing himself to think clearly, without panicking. He is usually good at being invisible, since the nobles and guests pay him no mind and the servants and the people of Skyhold tend to speak to him only when necessary. He hopes his weird appearance won’t catch their attention, but he is aware of the fact that people know him as a sort of unwashed hobo – he grunts as he thinks about that -, so he hopes they will think nothing of it, should they notice him.

He just has to cross the hall and reach their quarters. It’s easy, he just has to look ahead, back straight, and carry the precious tray up to the highest part of the tower. Then he has to set the table, undress and wash himself quickly, and ask for Scarlet.

“It’s easy.” he tells himself, taking the tray and approaching the frozen door. “Nobody is going to notice you. It’s going to work.”

Yet he feels like this is the hardest plan he ever devised and his heart beats too fast in his chest, choking the air in his lungs and throat.

He gingerly unfreezes the handle of the door, then opens it and peeks into the long corridor: nobody is there, but he can feel and hear the steps of people above, their voices and laughter, the ceiling rumbling with activity. He takes a deep breath and approaches the stairs, carrying the tray as if it is a little child. The wood is warm and the smell of food is good; he feels reassured, more confident, and he smiles, already looking forward to Scarlet’s joy.

He reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door that leads into the main hall; it’s full of people as usual and he sees servants moving around, getting ready to go back to the kitchens or take care of the guests’ rooms. He nervously looks around, trying to be as nondescript as possible, the quietest creature in Skyhold: Scarlet is nowhere to be seen and he sighs relieved.

He slowly heads towards the door to the quarters, the tray pleasantly heavy in his hands. He doesn’t see anyone watching him and nobody calls him or starts to whisper as he passes along the nobles, servants, and guests. Everyone is busy with their own things and no one pays attention to the soiled elven apostate.

He enters Scarlet’s quarters – “ _Our_ quarters!” her voice says in his head – without problems and he lets out a relieved, happy sigh, walking up the stairs with renewed strength, a huge smile on his lips. He can already see her joy, imagine the warmth that will spread in her heart, her homesickness less strong, less painful. If he can do anything to make her feel better, he will do it, no matter what it is.

He places the tray on the small table near the couch, then drags it at the center of the room and puts two chairs near it. He removes the cloth from the tray and starts to set the table, cursing himself when he notices he forgot the water in his haste. Looking around, he finds some unopened bottles of wine that people constantly give to Scarlet as a gift, but he knows she doesn’t like drinking much and he has no idea whether that wine would be a fine match for the food she so loves and misses.

He keeps searching for a bottle of water, whining softly, aware of his terrible clothes, of his dirty hands and face; he finds none, so he just takes a bottle of wine, opens it and pours its content out of the balcony that watches over the mountains. The blinding snow becomes a deep red as he keeps pouring the last drops of wine, then he uses a water spell to fill the bottle again, the same trick he uses to fill the bathtub whenever he and Scarlet want to take a hot, relaxing bath before going to sleep.

The table still looks empty, though, not romantic at all. Scratching his chin – and leaving a long line of grease on it -, he thinks of any possible decoration he might add, then he smiles and runs to the desk, near which Scarlet put a vase of flowers. He takes only four, not wanting to ruin her composition, then he finds a small vase he uses to keep his charcoal pencils and brushes in neat order, pours them all out, hides them on the desk under a pile of documents, and fills it with the flowers. He also summons tiny orbs of warm light and makes them float in the air, like precious specks of gold.

Now that the table is complete, he must take care of himself. Scarlet will soon be on her way here, so he must act quickly: filling the bathtub with hot water isn’t a problem, thanks to his magic, and he finds immediately the perfumed soap she loves so much and the new sweater and pants she sewed for him.

He scrubs his skin and is grateful for his lack of hair which saves him a lot of time; he just has to clean his body, reach every corner of it, eliminate all kinds of grease, oil, blood and spice from his fingers and face and wear those beautiful, warm clothes that Scarlet made for him.

Once he has done everything, he stands ready and clean near the table, fixing the last details, smiling happily and even humming a soft tune, waiting for her to enter the room, walk up the stairs, and discover the surprise.

He almost jumps when he hears the door open. He fixes the collar of his sweater, then studies the table and the food one last time, wondering if some candles would have looked good even if it’s still day outside. He hears Scarlet’s voice and then Josephine’s, the latter sounding rather worried and impatient.

“Please, Inquisitor, it’s extremely important! This Bann is closely tied to the crown, so we must present ourselves at our best.”

“Of course, Josephine. Wait for me in the main hall with him, I’ll join you shortly.”

Solas’ heart leaps into his throat and he stares at the stairs with sad puppy eyes. Won’t she eat here, then?

He hears her close the door, then walk up the stairs. He fidgets near the table, suddenly shy, and waits for her to appear. He catches a glimpse of her face before she turns to him: a bit tired and worried, eyes cast down in deep thought, hair falling near her gentle face.

But then, as soon as she sees him, she looks surprised, then joyful and a huge smile illuminates her eyes, her face, the whole room. The tiredness is gone, only love and happiness remain. He smiles back at her, straightening more his back, still fidgeting.

“Solas!” She sees the table and it takes her only a moment to recognize the food: her eyes widen and she brings a hand to her mouth, gasping.

“Don’t worry, I made it myself! I didn’t ask the cooks.” he hurries to say and a bit of pride slips into his tone. “I… ah, only asked someone to look for the spices.”

Scarlet lowers her hand, then she slowly walks over to him, her eyes never leaving his. He thinks he sees tears in them and starts panicking, but before he can say or do anything, he is pulled into a deep kiss that steals his breath away.

“Wait here.” she whispers, breaking the kiss for a moment before quickly pecking his lips again and rushing down the stairs. Solas stands still, cheeks red, and distantly hears her call out for Josephine. He doesn’t know how much time passes, as he’s still thinking about the kiss and the light in Scarlet’s eyes, but before he knows it, she’s back in the room with him and they are kissing again.

“Solas.” She keeps repeating his name with every kiss she presses on his face. “Solas, Solas, _vhenan_ …”

“I hope you will like it, I…” He suddenly grows anxious and worried and he eyes the food with concern. “I… I didn’t have the time to taste it.”

“I’m sure it will be _wonderful_.” she says, squishing his cheeks between her warm hands and he smiles at her, his eyes full of the same joy and love her eyes have. She grins at him and laughs, taking his hand and pulling him towards the table.

“Come on, let’s eat! I told Josephine that I can’t possibly join that Bann at dinner today.”

“And what is the excuse you came up with?” he chuckles, moving her chair to let her sit.

“No excuse. I just told her I wanted to eat with you. She will come up with something that the Bann will definitely have to believe.” She sticks out her tongue. “I’m the Inquisitor, after all. One of the perks of the job.”

He laughs with her, leaning down to kiss her again, then he sits next to her, happy to see that the food has been preserved perfectly and it’s still hot and soft, as if just taken out of the pan.

“Oh, Solas!” she sighs, looking at the meat and stew with starry eyes. “This looks so good! And the smell! It’s exactly the same, I can’t believe it!”

She smiles at him, bouncing on her seat, and asks: “Did you really cook it all by yourself? You remembered the recipe? All the ingredients?”

“Yes. I wrote them down.” He smiles shyly, his ears turning red. He’s flustered, timid, and proud at the same time, but when Scarlet giggles and kisses his cheek, saying she’s _proud of him_ , his smile grows more timid and happy and he lets out his snorting chuckle.

Scarlet takes her fork and knife and cuts the first piece of meat, complimenting the look of it and the smell. She looks enthusiastic and there is child-like wonder on her face as she takes the first bite. Solas does the same, eager and curious to see how he fared in the kitchens.

At first, he tastes only the meat: juicy and tasty, the honey syrup adding a certain richness to it. Then, his tongue is suddenly on fire and the flames seem to spread all over his mouth. He coughs and wheezes, reaching out for the water, and he already knows his face must be completely red.

His sight is blurred by the tears, but he’s able to glimpse Scarlet through them… and he’s shocked to see she is eating the meat and stew with gusto, munching and moaning happily as she chews without problems, without even sipping a bit of water. It’s like she can’t feel the spiciness at all.

“It’s _delicious_! Oh, Solas, it’s just like my Mamae makes it! It’s so spicy and good!” She beams at the food on her plate and he manages to crack a smile, even if his throat is melting away and he can barely breathe. He discreetly coughs some more, then drinks again, trying to regain speech.

“ _Vhenan_ , is everything alright?” she asks, worried, and he hurries to reassure her with another smile, hoping his eyes aren’t watering anymore and his face isn’t too much red.

“Yes, _vhenan_. I just… I wasn’t expecting it to be _this_ spicy.”

“My father likes it even spicier.” she chuckles and he blinks, trying to imagine such a flavor, but failing to do so. Even picturing that taste in his mouth makes his throat clench involuntarily.

Still, Scarlet looks absolutely overjoyed and she never stops smiling; she keeps complimenting the food and thanking him and Solas slowly starts to forget about his own portion to simply watch her, a smile on his face, looking at every detail of her face, every change of expression, listening to every word and putting it all inside his heart and mind.

She notices him, of course, and blushes and babbles until he laughs and looks back at his plate; he is able to eat part of his food, but it’s way too much for him, so he offers the rest to Scarlet, who gladly accepts, finding memories of her clan and family in every bite.

Later, as they cuddle in bed, nuzzling each other’s nose and cheeks, she says softly: “Thank you, Solas. That was a marvelous gift.” She smiles at him, tapping his nose. “I didn’t know you could cook _that_ well!”

“I didn’t know it either.” he chuckles. He swallows and pulls her further into his arms, pressing his lips on her cheek. “I’m glad you liked it, _vhenan_.”

He’s ready to go back to the kitchens every day if it means seeing her so happy and carefree. He remembers with a slight jolt that he didn’t clean the stove and table before leaving, but the cooks and servants are probably doing it themselves right now. He will ask Cole what they might like and send them an anonymous gift to apologize.

He tells Scarlet so and she kisses him, that same pride from before shining in her eyes. She strokes his cheek, looking at him with wonder and admiration, and he smiles shyly again. Her lips taste so good, like the spices, but milder, like embers and flowers and not fire.

“ _Ar lath, ma vhenan_.” she says and he presses his forehead against hers, his smile growing alongside hers.

“I love you, too, _vhenan_.”

Long minutes of relaxed, comfortable silence follow, then he timidly asks:

“What is your second favorite food?”


End file.
